Disclaimer: I don't own HP :(

A/N: Hey guys, I'm really sorry about last Friday... I know I should've updated then, but I was gone all weekend on a showchoir trip. :( Sorry again. But I really did appreciate the reviews SO MUCH... they're great to read!

Anyway, here's the next chapter... enjoy! This is a very, very important one.

Ron bought a dog.

As February slipped into March, and then into early April, Ron became lonely. Hermione slept on and the finality of her stay ultimately impressed itself upon him. She simply became another plant to water, another mouth to feed, another load of laundry – not a talkative counterpart to surprise him with breakfast and a good morning kiss, like his dreams so badly wished. He would spend his days in her room, the curtains drawn open, watching the activity in the complex's backyard. He felt the pangs of seclusion and - utilizing his brash decisiveness - went out and purchased a remedy in the form of Gus.

Gus was a six-year-old German Shepherd laying complacently in the back of the animal shop Ron had visited. Gus was housetrained, obedient, and rarely barked – he had spent his teenage years training to be watchdog for a Muggle bank, but had injured his forearm a year ago – making him the perfect house dog. Ron took pity on the great thing, rubbing his soft ears and nuzzling his snout, and felt a strange sort of relief when he led Gus through his flat's door.

Ron spent the whole week excited, parading about the apartment with Gus in tow, introducing the haggard dog to everything the home had to offer. He informed the dog of the sofas he could sleep on (which was all of them), his food bowls, the bathroom mirror, his paperwork, the cauldrons, and the like. He even introduced Hermione to him, allowing Gus to tentatively sniff her hands and hair, hastily removing the dog suddenly, lest he get attached.

Gus took to the home and master quite well, barking his opinions of Ron's choice of clothing when he stepped out of the closet and Ron's cooking when fed. He lay on an armchair in the sitting room for most of the day, watching the birds flitter on the tree branches and power lines outside the window. He seemed satisfied with the indoors, realizing that Ron would not take him for walks and that his time in the backyard was very limited. He wandered the halls contentedly for hours. Sometimes, he would sit outside Hermione's room, whining and scratching the door, wanting to be let in to see her.

It took Ron some time to allow himself to share his dog with her, but eventually Ron left her bedroom door open. Gus would sleep at the end of her bed during the night; his lithe bulk resting on her feet. Ron found himself spending more time in the company of Hermione, blaming the cause on the dog, but still slightly relishing the fact he had a chance to watch her surreptitiously.

"Gus," Ron declared quietly one day, sitting in an armchair by the windowsill, "today has been a good day, right?" He nuzzled the dog's forehead with his wide, flat palm.

The dog perked his ears in recognition of his name, his eyes droopy and sad.

"Yeah it has," Ron answered for him. "Isn't that right, Hermione?"

Hermione lay still.

"Thought so," he mused, a slight smile playing across his lips. He knew this play was absurd – he lived with a dog and coma patient – and began to chuckle softly.

Gus lay his head back down on the rug, grunting complacently.

"Well, I'm off," Ron told them both, hoisting himself to his feet. "Just need to run to the loo and I'll be right back to tuck you two in."

He exited the room still snickering at the tragic comedy his life had become. When he returned, Ron saw that Gus had already taken his spot at the end of Hermione's quilt – directly over her feet – and took to feeding the woman her potions. When he blew out the candle and went to leave again, Gus growled through the dark. The noise surprised Ron, the tone of it low and out of place.

Ron pivoted in his place, his hand gripping the door. "What is it?" he asked sharply.

Gus barked his reply and Ron hesitantly found the dog in the night, rubbing his ears to calm the animal. Gus wasn't acting strangely, but his breathing was muffled. Ron put his hand to his mouth and felt something thin and weathered. Gus retracted his grip on whatever it was he had and Ron drew it to him, realizing it was a piece of parchment.

"Where'd you get this?" Ron voiced his initial thought. Gus failed to reply. "Well, thanks anyway," he whispered, listening to the dog calm. Gus' breathing tapered and soon matched the speed of Hermione's. Ron slipped from the room and went downstairs, curiosity playing with his head.

It couldn't be a letter from his family or Harry – it was too late at night for such a small letter – and it probably wasn't a housekeeping memo from Seamus. He sat himself in front of the fire in his study, tearing open the paper with his fingers easily. Withdrawing the letter, Ron saw that the letterhead came from the Order and immediately, his pulse quickened.

Weasley, the letter began –

I've got some news for you – don't know if you'll like it or not. Someone special from St. Mungos is going to stop by and complete a check-up for Hermione tomorrow. They haven't gotten your paperwork in quite a while and frankly, we're all getting kind of anxious to hear about her. Anyway, figured I'd give you a break from playing 'doctor.' They'll be at your flat around eleven. Expect a Muggle mailman. Enjoy the afternoon off.

-Seamus

Ron read the parchment twice, his eyebrows furrowing. He drew in a great breath, trying to be calm, and leaned back in his chair. He stared into the fire while annoyance built in his chest. He knew that Seamus didn't mean any harm, but damn that letter stung.

The parchment crumpled in his fist as Ron lost himself in his thoughts. He had always harbored a small hope of becoming a 'doctor,' even under the schooling of Snape. He had been fascinated by potions and found that he excelled in them, keeping it mum for fear of teasing. Admittedly, he wasn't the brightest student. But he found his chance in the Order - everyone had to learn complex healing strategies in times of combat and remission. Ron always held his head high, confident and strong. Even Hermione had been impressed.

But Harry had chosen early on to become an Auror – mostly for vengeance, Ron thought. Harry was an angry young man and went out into the world under the false pretense that he would help reshape the war-stricken wizarding world. Instead, he found himself killing Voldemort's followers more than ever and could not deny the fact that it soothed him in some horrid way. And what Harry did, Ron had already agreed to do. It was with a heavy heart that Ron put aside his wants and surrendered to the calling of his best friend.

He ached every single day to play 'doctor' to the villages and towns they passed through. He cringed under cold eyes, wondering why men in such good power would not stop to help. He swore he saw the sick and dying in the windows of the weather-beaten buildings they slipped by, crying out for him. It was then he began building a small amount of resentment not only for Harry, but for the small platoon he traveled with.

Ron guessed that's why he gave up the job only eight months later. He couldn't take the snipe missions, the gruesome deaths, the hatred between the two groups. He abhorred watching the gleam in Harry's eyes before an ambush. It was senseless and tragic. What was even worse, though, was that Ron couldn't bring himself before the eyes of patients at St. Mungos. He couldn't take the hope they carried, knowing that many of them wouldn't make it. He had seen death too many times and the sense of sorrow engulfed him.

Then Hermione had found him. His life changed in so many ways. But that was a different story, something he wouldn't allow himself to dwell on at the present moment. All that mattered was that he had emerged better, more skilled, and able to help those who needed it in his own way – instead of killing, he collected information. Hermione had him enlist in another part of the Order. A sector she belonged to. That was half the reason he agreed – trying to show his gratitude for her. He became a spy, a shadow, a no one. The job fit him well, but he still felt as if something was missing.

Ron was a changed person. When Hermione left, he waited for months for a mission. Perhaps he would be able to find her again. When he was assigned one, he found they were simple and not exactly essential to the Heads' knowledge. Instead, he turned to his real passion and began brewing potions for Mungos. If he couldn't face the patients, the least he could do was supply them with a means of getting better. If he couldn't find Hermione, then life would have to go on.

He would show Hermione. He would show her that he was his own person – not just a follower. He had spent years in Harry's footsteps and, to a much lesser degree, hers. Hermione didn't let him forget that fact – that everyone around him had achieved what they wanted to be. He was the only one left wondering what was happening, watching for signs to guide him.

Not anymore.

Ron stared into the fire a while, his annoyance with Seamus building quietly in his heart. When the clock struck ten down the hall, he stood and tossed the letter into the hearth. Then he went upstairs, gathered the rest of the paperwork, and threw that in as well. He retired to bed with a complacent smile.

---

Ron awoke early the next morning, albeit drudgingly. He showered for the first time in a week but didn't bother shaving. He liked the peach fuzz growing on his face and head – he spent a few minutes gazing in the mirror imaging what he would look like with hair again. Maybe he would be more presentable – he needed to be now that Important People were coming to visit. He didn't want to risk losing Hermione again just because of his preferred squalor.

Gus followed him about the apartment for a while – probably just waiting for his food dish to be filled – and watched raptly as Ron stuffed clutter into closets and paper into cabinets. He sat in the doorframe as his master picked up the empty bottles of medicine strewn on Hermione's bedroom floor and crammed them into the closet he had never bothered to fill with her clothes.

Exactly at eleven, Ron heard footsteps on the porch outside the front door. He knew mailmen never rang the doorbell, so he opened the door instead. A tall, burly man dressed in blue nodded at him, depositing a few letters in the box next to the bell with a thick hand. Ron asked him in for a cup of coffee and the mailman accepted silently. Ron left the door open as he turned back into the main hallway.

When he turned his back, the husky man was gone. In his place stood a familiar, petite woman surveying the flat with raised eyebrows.

Ron gaped at her with an open mouth, uttering a few incomprehensible sounds.

"Look at this place," the woman remarked with a shimmering laugh, her neck craning gracefully to glance past him up the newly-dusted stairs. "It's so… tiny." Her nose wrinkled as she placed a hand on her curvy hip. "And… quaint? Is that the word I'm looking for?"

"Gin?" Ron stuttered, his cheeks reddening.

At that exact moment, there was a rustling sound from upstairs – something like thousands of dollars worth of pennies being dropped on hardwood – and a few robust barks. Gus tumbled down the stairs clumsily, not used to the clean walking space. He lunged forward, past Ron, and immediately began snuffing forcefully around Ginny Weasley's knees.

Ginny, obviously very surprised by Ron's new housemate, voiced her reaction in a loud, "Oh my God! What is this?" She backed up, her face pointed with triteness and a hint of fear. "What is that!" she repeated, her voice shrill.

Ron pulled the dog back by the scruff of its neck, his face burning. Gus calmed under his master's touch, but still huffed heavily in Ginny's direction. "Ginny," Ron began to stutter again, not able to comprehend his sister was the Muggle mailman, his sister was a Healer, his sister was standing in his front hallway critiquing his décor.

Ginny laughed again, breathing a sigh of relief. "You got a dog!" she exclaimed jovially as she smoothed her red twist of hair down the back of her neck. "I can't believe you… got a dog."

Ron smiled sheepishly, feeling clumsy and awkward in front of his family. It had been such a long time since he had been in contact with someone who would talk back, touch his hand lightly in conversation, wrap him fully in an embrace. He had no idea how to approach her – to really get her that coffee or to simply wrap his arms around her.

"Okay," Ginny slid her weight to one leg, her hip jutting out, "are you going to say anything at all, Hermit Brother?"

"His… his name is Gus," Ron stammered, loosening his hold on the dog. "He's really friendly, if you want to pet him."

"Gus," Ginny rolled the name over her tongue, seemingly liking the sound of it. She bent down, "Come here, dog," she cooed, holding her hands out as she would to a baby. Gus obliged happily, practically jumping on her. She rubbed the dog's ears vigorously and watched Ron at the same time.

"He's nice," she said plainly.

"Thanks," Ron answered, feeling naked without something for his hands to do. He felt relief as his back met the wall – something to keep him from sinking, melting, disappearing.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Ginny stood erect with Gus sitting contentedly next to her legs. "So, how've you been?" her slim shoulders shrugged quickly, her smile was charming – Ginny was a beautiful young woman.

"Fine," Ron answered, wide-eyed. When had this transformation happened? The last time he had seen Ginny she had been slogging her way through the Order's training program and an internship simultaneously. Her hair had been frizzy and uncut, her face bare and pale, her grin usually a grimace. "Fine."

Ginny's head bobbed, her hair catching the sunlight that streamed through the gauzy curtains covering the windows. "That's good, Ron… that's really, really good."

"And you?" his throat closed around the words. It was like swallowing whole ice cubes.

"Oh, you know," Ginny began with a simple wave of her hand; "got my own place, buy my own groceries…" her voice melded together, a hum of simple notes and quick inflections. He heard only a buzz in his ears.

Ron crossed the little distance between them and wrapped his skinny, freckled arms around his sister. He pulled her to him lightly, smelling the bright fragrance emanating from her skin. Her regulation St. Mungos robes were soft on his skin, reassuring him in his actions. He felt warm when Ginny threw her arms around his neck.

"We all miss you, Hermit Brother," she laughed quietly into his long neck. "Mum worries about you quite a bit – your letters help a lot. I'm just glad I'm the one who gets to see you."

Ron closed his eyes, trying to remember the sound of Ginny's voice. He knew now how important that was – memories were vital to him.

Eventually, Ginny pulled away and smoothed her hair again, her eyes downcast. Ron watched her face flicker between shining delight and faltering doubt – he could tell Ginny was slightly uncomfortable. He backed up a few steps, wiping his dry hands on his jeans and glancing over his shoulder.

"How's Hermione been?" her voice rang through the still air, only disturbing the invisible dust between them. "She okay?"

Ron shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling something small inside of him sink. Of course Ginny wasn't here for just a visit – that was against the rules – how had he allowed himself to forget? Again, Hermione had taken precedence in his life. Ron's visitors weren't really his, they were hers and he was just there to offer snacks and a comfortable place to sit and chat.

"She's fine," he answered, trying to make his voice sound like normal – he didn't want Ginny to hear his disappointment this early on in their reunion. "She's upstairs." Even to his hears, the words sounded hard and sad. He turned, shrugging, and began to take the stairs.

Ginny watched, unmoving for a second, her face blank. Her brother's feet disappeared into the upstairs hallway and there was a creak of a door. She realized she had to reassess her brother – his face no longer held that radiating spark that so accompanied his features years ago. His shoulders weren't held pompously as if trying to impress a great unknown. She missed his laugh, the deep rumble of his arguments, and the grand eloquence of his ego-bearing confidence.

She felt as if she was forced into sympathy for Ron. It wasn't everyday that there was a love like his – Hermione had been his whole world – and it wasn't everyday a love like that was so tragically ruined. Hermione had come back, yes, but with no explanation to soothe him. Pity filled her.

Ginny sighed, patted Gus again, and followed her brother to Hermione's room.

A/N: I hope you liked it! Please leave a review... suggestions are always welcome. :)

And have a great weekend!!!

Love, Katie